


Dress Code

by chutzpaz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blackmail, Catholic School, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, F/F, Fingerfucking, School Uniforms, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, and Cersei's gotta discipline her, where Margaery's a total brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chutzpaz/pseuds/chutzpaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Miss Tyrell!" Headmistress Lannister shrieks.</p><p>Margaery only smiles and snaps off the other strap. The Headmistress gasps. "Do not-" she commands, but Margaery has already pulled her bra completely off, out from under her shirt, and thrown it over her shoulder where it lands in the corner of the room, strewn over a file cabinet.</p><p>"There," Margaery says. "My bra strap isn't showing anymore."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress Code

"We have a strict dress code here, Miss Tyrell." Headmistress Lannister says from across the desk, steepling her fingers. "Your skirt is too short, your shirt needs to be buttoned up more, and your bra strap is showing."

Margaery crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. "This is an all-girls' school! What does it matter?"

Headmistress Lannister shakes her head and makes a tsk-tsk sound. "Rules are rules, Miss Tyrell, and if you truly do intend to be student council president, I suggest you follow them. Otherwise I'll see to it that a certain Sansa Stark suddenly receives a large influx of votes."

Margaery gapes. "That's not _fair_! I'm pretty sure that's illegal!"

The Headmistress smirks. "King's Landing Academy needs a president who sets a good example."

"This is blackmail," Margaery mutters.

"Yes," the Headmistress says bluntly. "So do something about that bra strap, please."

Margery glances quickly at the door, hoping that maybe the secretary can hear and will save her from this absolute _nightmare_ of a Headmistress. When no one comes to her rescue, Margaery sighs. "Fine," she says at last. " _Fine._ "

She reaches around, under her shirt, and unclips her bra. Then she very pointedly grabs hold of one strap, slipping it off her shoulder and down her arm.

"Miss Tyrell!" Headmistress Lannister shrieks.

Margaery only smiles and snaps off the other strap. The Headmistress gasps. "Do not—" she commands, but Margaery has already pulled her bra completely off, out from under her shirt, and thrown it over her shoulder where it lands in the corner of the room, strewn over a file cabinet.

"There," Margaery says. "My bra strap isn't showing anymore."

For a moment the room is deadly silent. The Headmistress' nostrils flare, only for a second, before she once again assumes complete control over her icy features. When she finally speaks her voice is sickeningly sweet. "Miss Tyrell," she says softly, drawing out the last part seductively, making her voice linger in the room despite the quiet volume. The change in demeanor is extreme— no longer does she seem angry, instead, she is perfectly calm, perfectly still, perfectly controlled. Margaery gulps. She totally made a mistake.

"Yes, Headmistress," Margaery says.

"Please, come here." Headmistress Lannister smiles nauseatingly brightly.

Margaery bites her lip, but obeys, circling around the Headmistress' desk warily before coming to a stop right in front of her. The Headmistress rolls the chair backwards to accommodate her, then leans back, steeples her fingers, and looks Margaery up and down. Assessing her. Sizing her up like a lion examining its helpless prey. Against her will, Margaery feels a blush creep up onto her cheeks. And oh, oh— her nipples _better_ not be hardening, but they _are_ , because she's standing directly under the air conditioning vent and she doesn't have a bra and she's pretty sure that they're visible under her white uniform shirt and—

"Now, Miss Tyrell," the Headmistress says, done with her assessment, "Please bend over the desk."

"Wha—" Margaery chokes out, hoping she had heard wrong— but no, Headmistress Lannister nods at her as if encouraging her to go on. Margaery stumbles back, shaking her head, mouth agape, because _no_ , she definitely will _not_ subject herself to that kind of humiliation.

"Or should I recommend you for expulsion?" Margaery's mouth snaps shut and she stills. "I thought not," the Headmistress continues, and motions over to the desk again. "So what will it be?"

Slowly, Margery leans over the desk, careful not to knock aside any of the various ornaments that decorate it. But when the Headmistress casually flips her skirt up, she can't help but jerk back, sending a pencil cup flying.

"Ah, ah," she hears behind her. "Control yourself, Miss Tyrell."

She bows her head, allowing her hair to splay across the desk in a wild half-circle, and tries her best to obey, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. Which helps _very_ much when the Headmistress runs a gentle hand across the bare skin of her arse. She gasps and jerks again, but doesn't knock anything over this time.

"Yes, your skirt is _far_ too short." With that, the Headmistress delivers a smack directly onto one of her cheeks.

"Oh!" Margaery yelps. Her whole body tenses.

"Shh," the Headmistress admonishes, delivering another slap.

"You can't _do_ this," Margaery whines.

"But I am."

"But you _can't_."

"Then get up and walk away," the Headmistress says simply.

Margaery groans. Another smack. "I can't," she says.

"You can't?" _Smack._ "Or you won't?" _Smack_. "Perhaps you're enjoying this."

"No," Margaery moans.

"Perhaps that's why you deliberately provoked me." _Smack_. "Perhaps that's why you're always flaunting yourself in those extremely short skirts and these— these—  _obscene_ garments." She hooks a finger under Margaery's lacy lingerie and then lets go so that it snaps back down.

"I didn't," Margaery gasps. "And I'm not!"

Headmistress Lannister lays another stinging slap on her. "Lying is not tolerated here," she says.

"I'm not lying," Margaery says.

"Then explain this," the Headmistress says, and runs one finger across the lace of her panties— and, oh— down the crook, exploring lower, until her finger glides over the spot of wetness that has developed there. Margaery whimpers. "You like this," she says plainly.

"No," Margaery lies. Because okay, maybe she does, maybe the gorgeous Headmistress with long eyelashes and beautiful golden curls and a killer body has long been making nightly appearances in her dreams, maybe she wears her skirt too short and unbuttons her shirt too much so that other girls will look at her, and maybe, just maybe the Headmistress' hand on her arse has brought all of her _badwrongterrible_ emotions and feelings and desires crashing to the surface— but she won't admit that, of course.

"No?" the Headmistress asks. "Well, alright. It is a punishment, after all." She resumes smacking, rhythmically, alternating cheeks and making each stroke harder than the last until finally, finally Margaery can't take it anymore—

"Please," she begs.

"What?" The hand attacking her backside stills momentarily.

"Please," Margaery repeats.

"Please, what?"

"Please, I— I don't know, I—" Margaery stutters.

She half-expects another smack, and half-expects to be let free. What she doesn't expect is the finger running down her panties again, the fingers _sliding off_ her panties, the finger that slips into her as easy as a knife through hot butter because she's _so wet—_

And this is wrong, so wrong, but Margaery moans all the same.

"Please, please, please," she begs again, over and over. Headmistress Lannister continues to thrust her fingers into Margaery, hardly gentle but not unkind either, just rough and fast and unrelenting. Margaery only bites her lip and braces herself against the desk, pushing her body up against the wood with every movement of the Headmistress' hand, but then she adds another and Margaery lets out a scream.

"Quiet!" the Headmistress reprimands, and Margaery bites her lip again, resolving to stay silent, but when she hits _that spot_ inside of Margaery she moans long and deep and— and—

And Margaery is coming, her body convulsing and hips rising to meet the Headmistress' fingers, and she tries to bury her face in the wood to muffle the strangled cry of ecstasy that comes pouring from her lips.

When she stops seeing stars, she looks up to see that Headmistress Lannister now stands in front of her, brushing hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. Margaery trembles at the touch, deceptively gentle and almost caring. Almost. Because the next thing she does is stick two fingers into Margaery's mouth. She lets out a half-sob when she tastes herself, but obeys the Headmistress' command of "Suck."

Finally she decides her fingers have been sufficiently cleaned and she slips them out of Margaery's mouth, leaving a thin line of spit to bridge the gap between lips and fingers before it breaks and settles on Margaery's chin.

"You may go," the Headmistress says, dismissing her, and Margaery is already bringing her panties back up and heading to the door, desperate to leave as fast as possible, but she wasn't finished— "after you clean up the mess you made."

Margaery's eyes flicker to the pencils that she accidentally sent flying earlier, and she slowly bends down to pick them up under the Headmistress' watchful eye. After successfully returning them, she reaches for her bra in the corner of the room, but the Headmistress _tsk tsk_ s behind her and shakes her head no.

"I—" Margaery says, but she's interrupted.

"I think I'll keep that," Headmistress Lannister says, smirking. Margaery flushes deeply from head to toe, feeling her whole body redden to match her arse cheeks, which still sting under the rough fabric of her skirt.

"Go to class, Miss Tyrell," she commands, and Margaery does.

It's only later, after she sits through two unbearable classes and one unbearable car ride, that she finally gets home and gives herself some relief. Relief that involves laying back in her bed, ignoring the pain on her backside, and focusing on fingering herself and trying to be quiet as she calls out "Cersei" when she comes.


End file.
